The blade. The moment the Nichirin Blade was drawn from Tsugikuni Yoriichi's waist, all the ultimate physical amplification generated by the Breath of the Sun at full concentration was compressed into that single sword.
The blade turned crimson. An orange-red hue, glowing from within, like molten iron flowing through a mold. That was the color of sunlight, condensed by human will and breath, adhered to the cutting edge. Not the ordinary state of a Nichirin Blade, but something further, a Crimson Blade.
A state achieved by using the superhuman Breathing Technique to drive the body to further heights, activating every last trace of the sun's power within the blade through sheer, overwhelming grip strength.
Muzan's slit pupils contracted to their absolute limit. Though her heart still clung to its contempt for humanity, its arrogance in her own immortality, she moved. She, who styled herself as a force of nature, could not permit herself to be trampled upon by a mere human. Her five fingers spread wide.
The skin at her fingertips burst open. Violet-black tendrils shot forth from between her knuckles, each as thick as an arm, their tips splitting into razor-sharp bone spurs.
Their speed was so great that beneath the moonlight, only afterimages remained. Ten tendrils. Ten directions. Every possible avenue of evasion was sealed.
But Yoriichi did not evade. He took a single step forward. Just one step. The tendrils swept past either side of his body, the closest one grazing his ear, shearing off a few strands of crimson hair. But none landed.
The Transparent World, the ability Tsugikuni Yoriichi had been born with, the power to see through the inner workings of all things, in that moment, laid bare the trajectory, speed, force, and rhythm of every single one of Muzan's tendrils before his eyes.
Those tendrils, in his vision, were indistinguishable from stillness. He sidestepped. Planted his feet. Swung his blade. A simple horizontal slash. The cutting edge bit directly into Muzan's left shoulder as she lunged past, cleaving diagonally down to her right hip.
The Crimson Blade state of the Nichirin Blade, the instant it carved through Muzan's body, seared the heat of the Breath of the Sun deep into the wound. Muzan's body was bisected diagonally. The severed surfaces were scorched black, emitting the foul stench of charred flesh.
In the next second, the Progenitor's regeneration activated, violet-black granulation tissue erupted madly from both sides of the wound, trying to knit the body back together.
But Yoriichi's second strike had already arrived. From the very crown of her head, a vertical cleave straight down. Then the third strike. The Nichirin Blade did not pause once it had left its sheath. Yoriichi's body became a streak of golden afterimages beneath the moonlight.
The Nichirin Blade in his hands traced countless intersecting, overlapping arcs. These were the sword forms created to complement the Breath of the Sun. The Thirteen Forms. Enbu. Heki-ra no Ten. Kasha. Gen'nichi-kō. Enbu the final form returning to the beginning, the thirteen forms an endless cycle, without beginning, without end.
The Thirteen Forms of the Breath of the Sun were not thirteen separate techniques, but a single, complete cycle. It began with Enbu, and ended with Enbu. Head and tail connected. Never ceasing. Its sole purpose from the moment of its conception was singular: in a single instant, to shatter all the vital points of Kibutsuji Muzan, her five brains, her seven hearts, leaving not a shred of room for regeneration.
This was why Shinji had said, Tsugikuni Yoriichi was the only blade that could truly kill Muzan. This was the fruit of the intelligence Shinji had provided in advance, intelligence regarding Muzan's anatomy that even the Demon Slayer Corps had never accurately recorded.
Tsugikuni Yoriichi, in an exceedingly short span of time, had created a set of Breathing Sword Forms sufficient to completely annihilate the Progenitor of Demons. More refined and perfected than the breathing sword forms he had created upon encountering Kibutsuji Muzan in the original story.
Crimson blade-light wove a net across the night sky. Every arc of the blade carried the searing heat of the Breath of the Sun. Every strike landed without the slightest deviation upon the positions of Muzan's brains and hearts.
Muzan's regeneration was fast. But the cycle of the Thirteen Forms was faster. In what amounted to barely a few breaths, thousands of slashes were unleashed. The crimson blade-edge shredded the newly sprouted flesh once more. The searing power of sunlight kept the tissues at the wounds in a state of continuous carbonization.
The regenerating flesh was destroyed again and again. Five brains. Seven hearts. Slashed apart, over and over, within the cycle of the Thirteen Forms.
At last, Muzan howled. The sound was neither human nor demon. It was the sharp, piercing shriek of flesh under ultimate pressure. Her body continuously disintegrated, reassembled, and disintegrated once more within the crimson blade-light. Every reassembly was weaker than the last. Every regeneration slower.
The scorching heat of the Breath of the Sun accumulated within her. The properties of sunlight seeped into every cell like a toxin.
Shinji stood thirty paces away. Onikiri and Yomi-giri were gripped in either hand. His blood mist unfurled as a sensory web. He did not intervene. There was no need. This battle, from its very first instant, was Tsugikuni Yoriichi's solo.
Shinji only needed to do one thing, cleanup. To ensure that not a single fragment of Muzan escaped this wilderness. Until Yoriichi's final blade fell. Enbu. Returning to the beginning. The crimson blade-light traced a perfect circle, reducing the last remaining lump of violet-black flesh before him to dust.
The blade-light scattered. All that remained upon the meadow was the ash drifting through the sky, and the lingering stench of charred flesh in the air. Muzan's body, was gone. Not even a fragment remained.
But Yoriichi did not sheathe his blade. He stared at the Nichirin Blade in his hands. His brow furrowed. He spoke abruptly. "She… is still here. She is not dead."
Yes. Even having annihilated every last piece of the Progenitor before him, Tsugikuni Yoriichi's intuition still told him, that Progenitor of Demons was still present.
Shinji, watching from the side, lifted his gaze and clicked his tongue. "As I thought."
Within his field of vision, from all directions, humanoid shapes were emerging from the darkness, striding toward them. "I truly underestimated you," one of the figures said. A pale face. Refined, handsome features.
It was Kibutsuji Muzan, but not in her female form. Male. Another figure also spoke. "This is the first time… I have been pushed this far." That was also a pale face. Exquisite, striking features. Another Kibutsuji Muzan. And there was a third. A fourth. A fifth… Dozens upon dozens of Kibutsuji Muzan.
Male and female. Old and young. Tall and short. Yet all of them carried the same aura. The same slit-pupiled eyes. They spoke in unison. "But… this ends here." Voices merging as one. Or rather, one voice, from many mouths. Such a scene was, of course, horrifying in the extreme.
Especially since Yoriichi's Transparent World told him with absolute clarity, within these figures were independent hearts. Independent brains. Independent blood circulations. Dozens of Kibutsuji Muzan. Every single one, was an original body.
Shinji stood where he was. His demon eyes swept across those figures surging out of the darkness. His tone, however, was unexpectedly calm. He had, in truth, long considered this possibility.
The Tsuchigumo's words, he had never forgotten them. That vaporized daiyōkai, before leaving Kaede's Village, had warned him about Muzan. Had mentioned that he had crushed Muzan to death seventeen times.
And every time, she had reappeared. Reappeared. Not regenerated on the spot. Not unscathed. Reappeared from somewhere else entirely.
For such a thing to be possible, there was only one explanation. Before being "killed," Kibutsuji Muzan had already split off portions of herself. Flesh, stored in advance. As long as any single piece of that flesh remained alive, Muzan would not truly die.
That piece of flesh would, in a short span of time, regrow a complete body. Complete five brains and seven hearts. Complete consciousness. This was not an ability Kibutsuji Muzan should have possessed in the original Demon Slayer. But this world was not solely Demon Slayer.
This was a merged world. A world with Hagoromo Gitsune's Hyakki Yakō in Kyōto. A world with the four-soul standoff within the Shikon no Tama. A world with Uesugi Kenshin's Bishamonten divine power. A world with daiyōkai like the Tsuchigumo and Sesshōmaru, who had lived for over four hundred years.
In such a world, a Progenitor of Demons who had survived five centuries on nothing but an undying body, if her only method had been to regenerate on the spot with no other contingencies, could never have lived this long.
One had to understand: in this world, there were plenty of formidable figures on the human side as well. Midoriko. Even Minamoto no Yorimitsu. Even if Kibutsuji Muzan avoided provoking those daiyōkai, her demons fed on humans. Sooner or later, some reckless demon would provoke beings that should never have been provoked.
Yet across five long centuries, facing demon slayers, onmyōji, daiyōkai, divine artifacts, and even the incarnations and reincarnations of gods and buddhas, Kibutsuji Muzan had still survived.
She must have had a contingency. And that contingency was clearly this, splitting her own flesh in advance and hiding it across the land. Akin to the phylactery of a lich from Western legend.
As long as the phylactery remained, the lich could not die. As long as a single shred of her flesh remained, Muzan was eternal. To the point where even sealing her would be impossible.
Thus, at this moment,
"You're not surprised?" The nearest male-form Muzan spoke.
"I'm not," Shinji admitted openly. "Because this, too, is within my plan."
The expressions of over a dozen Muzans shifted simultaneously. "You… have yet another plan?"
Shinji indeed had another plan. Just as in the storyline of Demon Slayer that he knew so well, Tsugikuni Yoriichi had dealt Kibutsuji Muzan a wound so grievous she would carry it for a lifetime, yet in the end, she had still escaped, surviving into the Taishō era centuries later.
To deal with Kibutsuji Muzan, Tsugikuni Yoriichi alone was clearly not enough. A plan within a plan was an absolute necessity. Tsugikuni Yoriichi was, after all, merely one part of the strategy. He was even just bait, bait to draw out these dozens of Muzans before him.
In the original story, Yoriichi was undeniably strong. Strong enough to consistently overpower Kibutsuji Muzan. But his nature dictated that he would only ever be one step above the powerful foes he faced.
The Will of Nothingness, growing with the environment, yet always only surpassing the threat before him by a single measure. Always suppressing them by a single margin.
So as long as Kibutsuji Muzan believed Tsugikuni Yoriichi was Shinji's ace, she would still act with reckless arrogance. And that, precisely, was what Shinji wanted. He would not be constrained by the original story. What he relied on, was only himself.
"Did you truly think I prepared only Tsugikuni Yoriichi?" As he spoke, Shinji raised his left hand. His palm flipped upward. Blood mist poured from between his fingers, not spreading downward, but surging upward. Toward the sky.
The dark crimson blood mist, infused with yōki, became a visible pillar of scarlet light, shooting straight into the heavens. No attack. This was merely, a signal. A signal calling out to someone far, far away. The direction of the call: Musashi Province. Kaede's Village. The one being called: Kikyō.
This—this was truly Shinji's preparation. He had known Muzan would come for him. He had known Tsugikuni Yoriichi could grievously wound Muzan. And he had known even more, grievous wounds would not be enough.
A monster that could endlessly split and regenerate, in this far more complex world, could not be annihilated by a single blade alone. A net was needed. A net that could cover a sufficiently vast area and trap all of Muzan's clones simultaneously.
And in this era, in this land, in this Kantō region, there was only one person who could accomplish this. His lover. The miko of the mightiest reiryoku. Kikyō.
At the same moment. Hundreds of kilometres away. Musashi Province. Kaede's Village. The night was deep. The lamps within the shrine's main hall were still lit.
Kikyō knelt before the offering table. Her white uwagi and crimson hakama were immaculate. Her black hair cascaded like a waterfall behind her. Her face was cold and clear, her eyes half-lidded.
She was waiting. From the moment Shinji had last contacted her during the day, she had been waiting for his signal. He had given no extraneous explanation. And she had asked for none. Because she knew he would never act without purpose. She knew every step he took had its reason. This trust needed no words. She only had to wait.
And that moment, was now. That pillar of crimson light on the distant horizon pierced through the night sky. Kikyō's eyes opened. Within those cool, clear pupils, the red light beyond the window was reflected.
She rose to her feet. Her movements were exceedingly light. Exceedingly steady. Kaede was curled up in the courtyard, the little girl dozing beneath the veranda. Hearing the footsteps, she lifted her head in a daze and rubbed her eyes. "Sister…?"
"Go back inside." Kikyō's voice was still soft. But it left no room for argument.
Momiji and Botan came running from the side hall. Momiji with her black hair in a ponytail, red-and-white miko robes. Botan with her round face and large eyes, blue-and-white miko robes. Both girls' faces were taut with tension.
"Lady Kikyō, that light in the sky—"
"It's him." Kikyō said no more.
She walked directly beneath the torii gate of the shrine. Then she pressed her palms together. Reiryoku surged from her hands, seeping through her fingers and into the soil beneath her feet. And then, she spoke.
A miko's prayer, resonant with rhythm and cadence. Her voice was not loud. Yet it echoed with perfect clarity through the night. This was… the Earth Barrier. The technique she had once demonstrated before Shinji.
A sealing barrier that could use a part of the enemy's body as a medium to deploy suppressive effects against their power. But the Earth Barrier she had shown him then had only covered Kaede's Village.
Now, the miko's reiryoku took root in the soil beneath her feet. It spread along the veins of the earth in every direction. Beginning from Kaede's Village.
With Kikyō as the epicenter. First, Musashi Province. Then crossing the borders. Surging into Sagami. Expanding further, into Kōzuke. Covering three provinces. Nearly more than a thousand kilometres.
Such power was unquestionably beyond Kikyō's own. She was indeed immensely strong. Strong enough to face a daiyōkai head-on. If the nature of the daiyōkai she faced was favorable to her, she could even directly exorcise them.
But she absolutely could not, through her own existence alone, mobilize reiryoku across a radius of a thousand, kilometres. Even if her soul was sufficient, her physical body could not bear such a burden.
This was, the faith of two provinces. Because the shrine of Kaede's Village had been elevated to the central seat of Shintō for both Musashi and Sagami. It was the place that enshrined the "Demon God, Shinji." And because the faith of over a hundred thousand people across two provinces converged upon this place through the shrine's barrier network.
Kikyō, as the sole miko appointed by Shinji, the permanent kannushi of the shrine, the only Gūji of Shinji's shrine, was the nexus of this web of faith. Her reiryoku alone could not cover several hundred kilometres. But the faith of the people of two provinces, could assist her in achieving precisely that.
This was precisely why the miko and kannushi of great, renowned shrines looked down upon the miko of unaffiliated rural sanctuaries. What they relied upon had never been their individual power, but the faith of an entire province. Of the entire realm.
Now, Kikyō had finally gained that faith. And she had grown even stronger, strong enough to surpass the pinnacle she might have reached in her original trajectory.
Within the range covered by the Earth Barrier she had unfurled, Kibutsuji Muzan's presence existed. Those dozens of Muzan's "original bodies" existed. And the ashes of the flesh Yoriichi had cleaved from Muzan, existed as well. They were the most perfect medium. The ideal medium for the Earth Barrier to deploy seamlessly.
Thus, at this moment, the light of the reiryoku barrier rose from the ground. Not a dome descending from the heavens, but a net of light growing up from the earth itself.
The soil glowed. The grass and trees glowed. The stones glowed. The very earth became part of the barrier. The light was gentle, carrying the warmth of the soil. Not blinding. Not searing. Yet it suppressed, even pinned in place, every existence that carried the bloodline information of Kibutsuji Muzan.
Kikyō knelt beneath the torii gate. Her black hair was lifted by the currents of reiryoku. Her cold, clear face held not a trace of extraneous expression. Only the faintest curve at the corner of her lips. Almost imperceptible.
But Momiji and Botan exchanged a glance. Both of them saw it. Lady Kikyō… was smiling. Because he had sent the signal. It meant his operation was proceeding smoothly. It meant everything was going according to his plan. And it also meant, he would soon return. She had grown tired of waiting.
Elsewhere. The wilderness of Kōzuke Province. The light of the Earth Barrier spread from the ground. Its speed was not fast, but its range was staggering.
The entire Kantō Plain was enveloped by that gentle glow rising from the earth in a matter of mere tens of seconds. Dozens of Muzans felt it simultaneously. T
he earth beneath their feet was rejecting them. The earth itself had recognized what flowed within their blood, and refused them.
They tried to flee. The soil beneath their feet grew viscous. Every step was like wading through a swamp. They tried to split. Newly generated flesh was devoured by the net of light the moment it separated from their bodies, turning to ash. They tried to burrow underground. The earth itself was the vessel of the barrier. Every inch of soil was targeting the blood of the Progenitor within them.
"You—!" The nearest male-form Muzan, his slit pupils, at last, filled with genuine terror. "What is this?!"
Shinji looked at him. His crimson demon eyes flickered with a ghostly light behind the mask. "This is called the Earth Barrier. A power specifically designed to counter you." The Earth Barrier was not, of course, invincible.
At the very least, it was useless against daiyōkai who had already achieved Phenomenon Transformation and no longer possessed true blood.
But Muzan was still far from the level of a daiyōkai. Even if she styled herself a natural disaster, a calamity, in the end, she was not qualified. Not even close.
Muzan's face contorted. On that countenance, handsome to the point of abnormality, true, hideous savagery surfaced for the first time. "You little wretch… you… little WRETCH!" She was enraged. More enraged than before.
And she was also desperate. Though these dozens of "original bodies" gathered here were still not her entirely, as the Progenitor of Demons, she could split infinitely, and every fragment of blood and flesh she cast off carried her will.
She was, in the truest sense, an undying, indestructible existence. But precisely because of this, she could feel it even more keenly. The suppression of this barrier covering three provinces was not targeting her individual fragments. It was targeting her source.
The existence named Kibutsuji Muzan itself. No matter how many pieces she split into, no matter how many fragments she divided herself into, it was still a single whole. Every demon that entered this region would be suppressed. Every demon that arrived here would be countered.
But if it were only this, it would still not be enough. Suppression alone. Not annihilation. This, was still not Shinji's objective.
Amidst all this, Tsugikuni Yoriichi gazed at the barrier that shrouded heaven and earth. He could not help but feel a profound sense of awe.
And then, Shinji launched himself into the air. He spoke. "I know you're anxious. But don't be in such a hurry." He continued. "This matter… is not yet finished."
As his words fell, the Shura Transformation erupted forth. Bone spurs shot up simultaneously from his elbows, his shoulder blades, his spine. The white skeletal framework extended and wove itself outside his body at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Thunder burst from the gaps in the bones, filling the empty spaces, condensing into layers of violet muscle. The yōki film expanded from his body's surface, enveloping the entire Bone Thunder structure. A six-meter-tall Bone Thunder Shura rose upon the wilderness.
But this Shura Form was different from all those that had come before. At the very center of its chest, a globe of interwoven dark crimson and orange light pulsed.
That was the Shura Heart, beating. At the position of its waist, a nucleus of ink-green light churned. That was the Shura Kidney, throbbing. Two viscera, resonating in unison. The dual cycle of Fire and Water formed the simplest of circuits within the Shura Form.
The heart pumped. The kidneys stored. Yōki was no longer poured in one-way from the main body. It was generated, circulated, and multiplied autonomously within the Shura Form itself.
The amplification of yōki brought by the operation of these two viscera stacked upon the foundation of the Ninth Transformation. The Shura Form's actual output had now reached the Eleventh Transformation.
Though there was still a considerable distance from the level of a daiyōkai, in terms of sheer density and total volume of yōki, it was enough. Enough for what he was about to do next.
Shinji opened his eyes within the colossal Shura Form. The violet veins and orange luminescence intertwined within his crimson demon pupils.
In their deepest depths, a thread of silver-white moonlight had emerged. This, was unmistakably the Soul-Chasing BowArm Transformation. The hand that pursued souls and struck with certainty. The ability that, once locked onto a soul, guaranteed a hit regardless of physical distance or obstacles.
Under the amplification of the two viscera, the range of his perception skyrocketed. From half an inch beyond his skin, it expanded to ten paces. A hundred paces. One km. Ten km. A hundred km, until it touched the boundary of Kikyō's Earth Barrier.
And then, it resonated with the barrier. The faith that sustained the Earth Barrier, was, in its very essence, directed toward Shinji. So he could use it too. He could command it. The sensory web of the Soul-Chasing BowArm Transformation, in the instant it made contact with the sealing net of the Earth Barrier, overlapped and fused with it.
Kikyō's barrier had used Muzan's divided fragments here as a medium, marking the existence of Muzan as a whole. And now, Shinji's Soul-Chasing BowArm Transformation used the soul as its anchor and locked onto every marked target. The two nets became one.
The entire land. From the Kantō to Kyōto. From Echigo to Shikoku. From Kyūshū to Mutsu. Every demon created by Kibutsuji Muzan's blood. Every piece of Muzan's flesh hidden across the realm. All of them, locked on.
It was as though countless crimson points of light blazed to life within Shinji's perception. Dense. Innumerable. Spread across the world.
"I see them," Shinji's voice boomed from within the Shura Form's colossal body. Deep. Resonant. Far-reaching. He looked at the dozens of Muzan clones before him, pinned in place by the Earth Barrier, unable to flee. "Every piece of your flesh. Every demon. Every backup hidden in the shadows. I see them all."
Kibutsuji Muzan quaked with rage. And then, with sheer, primal terror. This—this was Shinji's true countermeasure. His killing blow.
.
.
.
.
Read 40 chapters advance on [email protected]/Lost_moon